


The Goldfish

by MoonRiver



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Sherlock, Confessions, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, M/M, POV Mycroft Holmes, Post-The Empty Hearse, Post-The Sign of Three, Secret Relationship, Sherlock Makes Deductions, The Empty Hearse Spoilers, The Sign of Three Spoilers, there's actually a goldfish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, Mycroft actually does have a goldfish of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Goldfish

**Author's Note:**

> This has been floating around my fanfic folder for a long time so I finally decided to publish it!

“And there they are in the cell the next morning. Look at the two! Blacked out as soon as the door shut behind them.”

Mycroft laughed as he took the mobile out of Greg’s hands. He flipped through pictures of his brother and John sprawled out in the cell, both completely pissed. In one photo Sherlock lay on the bench with his hand draped over the edge, practically gracing the doctor’s cheeks.

“God I’ve missed that,” Greg admitted.

He stretched his arms across the counter so his fingertips could brush against Mycroft’s. The elder Holmes’ lips turned up in a grin as he handed the mobile back and lifted one of his hands to kiss it. They stood on opposite sides of Mycroft’s kitchen island, with two glasses of wine between them. Their empty dinner plates sat in the sink, and the smell of roast chicken and rice lingered in the air. Outside the sun was setting over the trees, and everything just felt so perfect.

“You’re enjoying having him back,” Greg teased.

Mycroft lifted their hands and led Greg around to his side of the island. He trapped his lover into a soft kiss, and when they finally broke apart he smiled.

“I like having him safe,” Mycroft replied.

Wrapping his arms around him, his partner allowed Mycroft to rest his head on his shoulder as memories of Sherlock being beaten, tortured, and showing up at safe houses covered in blood flashed in his mind.

“I think he knows,” Lestrade sighed. Mycroft tightened his grip around the D.I.’s back at the confession.

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s standing in the doorway watching us.”

His body stiffened as he suddenly became aware of the third presence in the room. Slowly, he lowered his arms and peeled himself away from Greg. His mind went numb. His mouth went dry and his throat seemed to close up.

Sherlock was indeed standing in the doorway, dressed in his usual coat and scarf, with a goldfish bowl in hand. A single, tiny, goldfish swam inside.

For a moment he and Greg stared at Sherlock, and his brother just stared back. He had imagined many times what it would be like to confess his relationship with Greg to Sherlock, and somehow after hundreds of rehearsals his mind was just going blank.

“Let me take that, mate,” Greg said, taking the fish bowl from him. “What the hell is this, anyway?”

His brother didn’t take his eyes off him as he stammered:

“A…a gift.” His eyes suddenly dashed between the two of them as he put everything together. “I knew it. I bloody fucking knew it.”

Greg turned to Mycroft and remarked:

“Have you ever heard him swear before?”

A bemused grin crossed Greg’s face, but Mycroft didn’t feel as amused. Sherlock knew. Sherlock figured him out.

“Yes, he went through quite the phase when he was four,” Mycroft replied. He cleared his throat and straightened his suit. “So, brother dear, you have found me out. Congratulations. Are you surprised, then, that I could become entwined with the matters of the heart? That I have, indeed, found my own goldfish?”

His partner held the goldfish bowl up to his face, as though he were trying to piece everything together. With a grim smile, Mycroft asked:

“Come, then. How did you figure it out?”

Sherlock swallowed and blinked; he looked one step away from slapping himself in the face to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“The….the keys,” Sherlock confessed. “The keys I pick-pocketed from Lestrade when he hugged me after we reunited. They were your keys, Mycroft. I couldn’t believe it so I nicked his keys again at the wedding, and they were yours too. He’s clearly not married anymore: the pictures on his desk are different, and his wife would never have put up with that scuff. Lestrade, you came alone to John’s wedding, but you didn’t accept any of dances offered to you. Mycroft couldn’t be your ‘plus one’ because you two can’t go anywhere together in public, can you? A D.I. and a spook?”

Mycroft choked for a moment at Sherlock’s choice of wording.

“Spook?” He shot. “Sherlock, please don’t insult me. But yes, you’re not seeing things, nor are you dreaming. Greg and I are, well, an item.”

His brother’s face went gray, and he wrapped his coat around himself a bit more tightly. To prove his point Mycroft wrapped his arms around his partner’s waist and pulled him closer.

“Would you like some dinner?” Mycroft offered. “There are leftovers.”

His baby brother’s face twitched as he glanced at their empty dinner plates; it was a sure sign that he was starving.

“Oh, come on Sherlock!” Greg laughed. He straightened up, like he was going to say something serious, but instead he burst out laughing again. “You should see your face!”

But Mycroft didn’t find Sherlock’s reaction too funny. His brother looked sincerely, deeply, hurt. He looked betrayed. His stomach turned to knots at the thought of hurting him, and he threw Greg a look, hoping to shut him up.

“Can we talk?” Mycroft asked, meeting his brother’s eyes.

There was a flash of anger in them before he replied:

“Now you want to talk? Not earlier, when you were watching me being beaten to death in a cell?” Greg swirled around to Mycroft, his eyes demanding answers. Clearing his throat, he desperately tried to think of an appropriate way to justify himself. He had told Greg as little as possible about Sherlock’s adventures away- and he had left out nearly all of that particularly story. Sherlock’s scowl turned into a grin as he said to Greg: “Oh, he didn’t tell you? I suppose he left out all the gory parts of the story. I can show you the scars, if you’d like. Crowbar scars stay with you for life, you know.”

“Mycroft,” Greg said quietly. He sounded like he might be sick.

“Enough of this, Sherlock!” Mycroft spat. “You know full well why I couldn’t talk about what happened to you.”

“For his protection?” Sherlock asked, suddenly rounding on Greg. “Is that what he told you, Lestrade? Let me tell you about protection. I jumped off a roof and went in hiding for two years to save your life. You had a gun pointed at your head. Did your _boyfriend_ tell you that?”

Greg’s hands formed fists as he rounded on Mycroft, looking as though he weren’t sure if he wanted to yell at him or hit him. But to his surprise, Greg let out a low sigh and calmed down as he turned back to his consultant.

“I know your brother had his reasons,” Greg said. “I’m sorry you got hurt on my behalf. I owe you my life. I owe both of you my life.”

Without warning he spun around toward Mycroft and planted a soft kiss on his lips. They were both smiling when they pulled away, while Sherlock looked like he might vomit.

“I can’t do this,” Sherlock mumbled. He reached for his goldfish bowl, but Mycroft caught his arm just in time.

“The world has moved on without you,” Mycroft said quietly. “You simply have to find your place in it again.”

His brother’s eyes flashed between him and Greg before he snapped up his goldfish bowl and stormed out. There was a long pause as he stared after him, wondering where everything went wrong. Weren’t they just fourteen and seven, not too long ago? How had their lives become _this_?

“Well,” Greg announced, bemused, “that could have gone a lot worse, actually.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but to smile; trust Greg to always be there to make him feel better. He found himself being pulled back toward his partner, and Greg’s lips were suddenly on his. The kiss was deeper this, with a passion that sent a sharp heat racing through his body. As they broke apart their eyes raised to meet each other’s.

“You handled him well,” Greg commented softly, “and you’re right, he just has to find his place again."

“Yes,” Mycroft sighed as their foreheads fell together. “I just hope he can.”

They shared another kiss, and his hands found his partner's hips. He felt Greg shudder beneath his touch, and Mycroft considered calling it an early night and dragging him off to bed right then and there. But instead his thoughts then turned to what Sherlock said about the wedding.

"Did you really not accept _any_ dance offers?" Mycroft challenged.

Greg's lips slipped into a sly grin.

"I was saving them all for you," Greg murmured into his ear.

Suddenly Greg's hips began moving side to side in an ever so gently dance. He allowed Mycroft to spin him around once, though that was all it took for them to realise they were far too old to be doing this. Their eyes met again; he never felt as comfortable, as safe, as _wanted_ as he did when Greg looked at him like that.

"I love you."

It took him a moment to realise it was he who blurted those three words out. He didn't realise it until Greg's soft, kind, eyes ignited with gratitude and passion.

"I love you too," Greg breathed.

A weight lifted from his shoulders as their lips met once again and their hands folded together. He'd never felt bolder, he'd never felt more free, then in that moment. He'd never realised how different being in love could make him feel, but all he wanted at that moment was to just be together with Greg, forever. It was such a juvenile thought, but being in love- and knowing that he was loved back- it was more than...more than...

His mind stopped being in capable of producing proper thoughts as Greg's tongue slipped through his lips and down his throat. His last thought before he gave into temptation for the night was that he truly hoped that one day Sherlock, too, would be able to find this kind of happiness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks SO much for reading!! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. I'd love to know what you thought!!!


End file.
